


Yo Who the F Is This?

by Chash



Series: Holiday Fills 2015 [17]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5564995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's parents are in town, so Bellamy gets to meet them. Clarke is already planning to make it up to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yo Who the F Is This?

**Author's Note:**

> Holiday fill for [nfinitegladness](http://nfinitegladness.tumblr.com/)!

Clarke had been able to tell that Bellamy was leery about the two of them before they met; he was not nearly as subtle about it as he thought. She hadn’t known exactly why, because, honestly, who could have guessed that he thought she was trying to catfish him so he was going to catfish her first? That’s just not an explanation a reasonable person would come up with. Bellamy is _ridiculous_.

The explanation that Clarke had come up with was her mother, that he hadn’t known if he really wanted to deal with possibly getting drawn into a political minefield. Clarke isn’t a huge fan of the whole thing herself, although her mother is careful to talk around actually  _lying_. It’s technically true, that Clarke started med school. She just left med school. Honestly, Abby probably even believes that Clarke is going to go back. And she’s never said Clarke is straight, she just lets heteronormative assumptions do the work on that one for her.

She nearly hadn’t responded to Bellamy’s first message because of that, because she thought if she started dating someone, it should be a girl, just so that she would have an excuse to talk about her sexuality. But he was–cute, honestly. He had this blurry picture of himself with his face half-covered by _I Shall Wear Midnight_ , showing off curly hair and dark eyes behind his glasses, a few scattered freckles. And he was asking about Harry Potter and she was drunk and she just kept on wanting to talk to him, so she did, and she figured they’d deal with her mother, if they liked each other enough. If it was really worrying him.

Still, it was a real relief, when he hadn’t been worried about her mother at all, and instead had this whole absurd theory about her scamming him which boiled down to _you’re honestly too good to be true_. It’s hard to be offended by that.

It’s honestly one of the best things that’s ever happened to her.

But it does mean they still have the entire issue of her mother.

“I assume you hate her,” Clarke says. They’ve been dating, in the traditional sense, for two weeks, and it’s going well. He’s like she thought he would be, sarcastic and gruff and loyal, fiercely protective of the people he loves, stubborn and opinionated and–well, yeah. She is stupidly gone for him. She knew she would be.

“Not, like–there are worse republicans,” he says, and Clarke laughs.

“You don’t have to be nice about it.”

“I’m not, it’s not like she’s Donald Trump or anything.” He tugs her closer into his side, kisses her hair. They’re at a weird place, relationship-wise; they’ve known each other for months, he’s honestly one of her closet friends, and she really, really wants to get him naked and touch every inch of him.

On the other hand, it’s been two weeks, so they haven’t really progressed past cuddling and making out, because Clarke wants this to go _right_. They’re still working out how to be in the same physical location, and it feels like it has to get difficult at some point. That always happens to her, when she meets people online. They chat really easily and then suddenly they’re on an actual date and Clarke realizes they have an annoying voice or a weird laugh or some other shallow thing that she doesn’t _want_ to be bothered about, but she can’t help.

Lincoln and Anya claimed it was because she wasn’t really ready for a relationship and was looking for excuses to reject people, and maybe she was. But Bellamy is–Bellamy is honestly exactly what she wanted.

“She’s definitely not Donald Trump,” Clarke agrees. “And she’s going to be in Boston next week.”

“Why?” he asks. “She doesn’t really think it’s worth trying to convince anyone in Massachusetts to vote for her, does she? We’re so fucking blue, it’s ridiculous.”

“She’s going to a benefit for MGH. Lip service to her roots as a doctor or whatever.” She worries her lip. “I’m going.”

“Why?”

It’s hard to really explain her mother, but she has to try. “It’s–if she wasn’t my mother, I would hate her. But she is, you know? And she thinks she’s doing the right thing, and I honestly support her more than any other candidate in her party. If we’re going to have a republican president, I want it to be her. Plus I just feel like an asshole, not seeing her while she’s in town. And my dad will be there, I love my dad.”

“Yeah, no, that makes sense. I still love my mom, and she was a piece of work.” He rubs his hand over her back. “So, what do you need from me? Pre-gaming? Post-gaming? You just want to come over after so you can rant about how much you hate rich people?”

“You don’t want to come?” she asks, trying not to feel hurt. Of course he doesn’t want to come. They’ve been dating for two weeks, he hates her mother, and they might not even be anything real. She probably wouldn’t subject herself to this, in his place.

Except she would, so, yeah. Of course it hurts.

“You want me to?” he asks, sounding surprised, and Clarke cranes around to look at him.

“Yeah.” She bites back on excuses for why, like that her mother will try to set her up and she doesn’t want to be alone, because the truth is simple and easy. “You’re my boyfriend, of course I want you to come.”

“Oh. Then, yeah, I’ll come,” he says, with this surprised little laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t want to overstep or anything. I hear meeting the parents is a big thing.”

Clarke tugs him down for a kiss, and he returns it instantly, happily, so she lets herself relax, laughs a little herself.

“We could just agree that we like each other and we’re not going to freak out about it,” she suggests, brushing his hair off his forehead.

“That sounds so logical and reasonable,” he teases. “It’s like you forget you’re talking to the guy who thought you were catfishing him for two months.”

“I never forget that. I’m telling all my friends. It’s already in my top-ten best life anecdotes.”

“Always glad to help out,” he says, with a wry smile. “So, what do you do at a hospital benefit? It sounds awful.”

“Oh yeah, it is.” She kisses him again. “But if it sucks, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

He grins. “Is it bad I kind of want it to suck now?” he asks, and she has to laugh.

“Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure you’ll get your wish.”

*

Bellamy makes her come over to his place first, to make sure he looks acceptable, which is sweet, if possibly useless. It’s weird for her, because she obviously wants her parents to like her boyfriend, but he’s also very clearly _not_ the kind of boyfriend they’ll like. He’s a smart guy, but he didn’t go to college because he was working to support his sister. He has a good but not particularly prestigious job working at a bakery, and he’s thinking about taking some night classes to get his actual degree.

As far as Clarke is concerned, it’s all actually amazing. She’s never had to work a day in her life, and she’s pretty sure if she just decided to sit around and watch Netflix all day, her parents would continue to give her enough money to support that lifestyle. She never _would_ –she loves her job and after a day or two of doing nothing, she invariably starts getting bored out of her mind–but she would never have to have the life Bellamy has, and it’s genuinely impressive, what he’s done. Bellamy is so fucking smart and dedicated and hard-working that Clarke just wants to tell the whole world about him and his achievements.

He is, in short, the exact kind of success story that her mother loves from a distance, a disadvantaged young man who pulled himself and his sister out of poverty and is living some version of the American dream.

But it’s not the kind of story she wants dating her daughter, and nothing he can wear to this will change that. Still, she’s willing to do her best.

He opens the door with his tie undone and his dress shirt half-buttoned, his hair a ruffled mess. She fucking _adores him_.

“Hi, thank you for coming, I forgot how ties work.”

“Hi,” she says, tugs him down for a kiss. “You’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“You look unbelievable, I don’t want anyone thinking I’m the escort you hired on Craigslist who wasn’t worth the money you paid for him.”

“No one is going to think that,” she says, buttoning his shirt the rest of the way and then knotting his tie. “You always have the weirdest assumptions about what people do on the internet.”

“It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you,” he says, but he’s smiling. “You really do look amazing.”

“So do you. I’m really shallow, I wouldn’t be with you if you weren’t hot.”

“Oh good, that’s comforting.” He still can’t help fiddling with his hair a little. “So, uh, do I have guidelines for this?”

“Guidelines?”

“Can I not say you’re a teacher? Should I pretend I have a better job? What are we looking at here?”

“I did a year of med school and I’m still technically allowed to go back if I want to,” Clarke says. “My mother is just pretending I’m going to want to. I’m willing to say I’m _taking a break and examining my options_ , but, yeah, I’m a teacher. If the bi thing somehow comes up, I don’t deny it, but–you’re a guy, it probably won’t.” She sighs. “God, that feels so scummy. It’s not like I hide it, just no one ever thinks of it, so I’m not–”

“Clarke,” he says, gentle. “It’s your life. It’s your call when you want to come out, if you want to come out. You’re not really much of a public figure. It’s not like you give interviews or anything.”

“I know, but–it still feels gross.” She rubs her face. “Anyway, don’t lie. Just be yourself. If I didn’t want to bring _you_ , I wouldn’t.”

“Got it.” He smiles. “Don’t worry, I know you’re into me. I just don’t want to mess-up your long term plan for screwing with your mom’s campaign. I know you’ve got this.” He shrugs on his jacket, which must suck, because it’s barely September and still hot and sticky out, but Bellamy shows no sign of complaining. “What have you told them about me, anyway?”

“New boyfriend, met online. Twenty-eight, works in a bakery, I like him a lot.” She slides her hand into his as they head for the train. “Mostly I told my dad about you. I kept texting you and stuff while I was at home, so he caught on pretty quickly. And he wasn’t even a little surprised you were coming today. I don’t know what he’s passed on to my mom, but–well, you only have to worry about one of my parents.”

“The one who might be president some day.”

Clarke grins. “Well, not if we can help it.”

*

It could be worse. Her dad is great, of course, thrilled to meet Bellamy and chat with him, and Bellamy has a natural charm when he wants to use it, which is kind of a surprise, given Clarke usually sees him being kind of an awkward nerd. When she mentions it, he just smiles, pecks her on the side of the mouth, and tells her she brings out the best in him.

She’s glad he also recognizes that being an awkward nerd is the best in him.

Her mother is–polite. Interested. She says all the right things and smiles at all the right times, and Clarke nearly slugs her because it’s so _obvious_ that she doesn’t think Bellamy is going to last. That she thinks he’s just some random guy, maybe someone Clarke found to piss her off, and not–

She drags him off, into a family bathroom, and locks the door, pressing him up against the wall and kissing him, long and deep.

“Hi,” he murmurs, laughing, hands trailing up her back. “What?”

“That sucked.”

“It did, yeah,” he admits. “Good thing you can’t die of passive-aggression.” He smiles. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I promised to make it up to you,” she says, and his eyes go darker. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and she slides her hand down to the button on his slacks, but she doesn’t open it. They haven’t done this yet, and it’s possible he doesn’t want the first time they have anything like sex to be in a hotel bathroom at a fancy hospital party. “Want me to?”

His head drops back against the wall. “Fuck, yes,” he says, and Clarke undoes his slacks, pushes them down enough that she can get her hand into his boxers and wrap her fingers around his dick as she kisses him. He’s long and hard, thick, perfect in her fingers, and she can’t wait to do this all the time. “Clarke,” he breathes, and she pulls back only so she can slide down and take him in her mouth.

They make it out of the bathroom almost twenty minutes later, because Bellamy insists that the party sucks for her too, so he should make it up to her, and eats her out on the sink because they’re fucking classy people, okay? And then they have to make out, just a little, because–she is so pathetically gone for him, it’s not even funny.

“So, uh, do you think your mom is going to have a lot of these?” he asks, when they rendezvous at the drinks table after ducking out of the bathroom separately.

Clarke straightens his hair a little more, mostly to have an excuse to play with it. “Not these specifically, but, yeah, she’s going to have all sorts of shit I’m expected to go to, and I’m planning to bring you when I can.”

“Awesome,” he says, and leans down for a chaste kiss, now that they’re back in public. “I hope they all suck. I’m really looking forward to that.”

And, for the first time in a long time, Clarke is too.


End file.
